Page 63 of The Lost Book of First Loves

“Why didn’t you?”

“I did for a month or two. I couldn’t stay in our condo in San Jose. And then I realized I needed space to work things out. I came out here and instantly fell in love with this part of Wyoming. The people, the scenery. All of it. Now I don’t know if I could ever leave.”

They lapsed into silence as he continued building the frame. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. More like... restful.

She had a random memory of helping her mother make some bookshelves for Elizabeth’s classroom at the high school where she taught. They had both been terrible at it, but the two of them had laughed through the whole thing.

She hadn’t built much since then. She had hired a contractor and decorator when she bought her apartment and had let them furnish it.

At some point, the dog came over and settled at her feet and June reached down to pet his head, charmed at his easy affection.

For the next half hour, she petted the dog, watched Beck work and let her mind wander as the scent of wood glue and sawdust filled the air. Oddly, she felt more at peace than shehad in a long time, even when she had been sitting beside the cascading waterfalls Ali had shown her.

“Do you mind giving me a hand?” he asked, jolting her from her thoughts.

He wantedherhelp? What could she possibly do? She wanted to warn him she would probably make a mess of things, but rose instead and moved toward the worktable.

“I can certainly try. What do you need me to do?”

He picked up a long piece of planed wood, gnarled and weathered-looking. Two other pieces rested on a quilted blanket on the floor of the workspace. “Now that the sealer has dried, I need to set the wood I’ll be using as the foundation of the table. I could use help figuring out how to arrange them.”

And he wanted her help? She was flattered that he thought she could offer anything of use.

The planks fit perfectly inside the form he had created, obviously cut to size already.

“I was thinking this big one in the middle and those two smaller ones on the side. They will create a natural channel on each side for the resin.”

“That looks good to me,” she said. “Maybe go a little off center with the big one instead of directly in the middle.”

“You’re right. That’s better,” he said after he had made the adjustment. “Thank you. Good eye.”

She found it hard to visualize the finished product, but loved being a small part of the process.

For the next hour, he shaped the wood, drilling out a few of the gnarls and planing and sanding it until the planks looked gorgeous, even to her untrained eyes.

“Now what?” she asked after he had vacuumed up any trace of sawdust with a shop vac.

“Now I need to mix the resin.”

He put on a face mask and gloves and lowered the safety glasses from the top of his head.

She watched as he poured liquid from one container to a bucket then added liquid from another one.

He used the same drill he had utilized to create the form, this time attached with a long mixer bit, and stirred the clear resin. She watched as he added several drops of something to the resin that spread out in a hypnotic cloud of color.

“Looks like I need a little more. I’m trying for a translucent bluish-green that I hope will resemble a mountain stream running through the wood.”

He added several more drops and stirred again with the mixer bit.

“How do you know when it’s right?”

He shrugged, still stirring. “Experience? Luck? Some of both? I don’t know. This is a big leap of faith where you have to hope you know what you’re doing.”

She envied that, since right now she certainly did not have faith in herself.

“The moment of truth,” he said when he was satisfied with the color.

He carried the bucket to the frame and poured the resin around the pieces of wood. It flowed in like that mountain river he had talked about, filling all the empty places between the boards with that iridescent blue.

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